


Taste The Sky

by orphan_account



Category: South Park
Genre: Alone, Braders, Bradley/Butters - Freeform, Bratters, Butters/Bradley, Death, Depression, Homophobia, Implied Death, Loneliness, Love, M/M, One-sided MAYBE, Romance, Sad, Suicide, Suicide mention, death mention, implied suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-06-10 16:00:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6963463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Butter's had left Camp New Grace without giving his speech? What would happen to Bradley if he'd not jumped off the bridge, and continued his life at Camp New Grace without Butters?</p><p>Camp New Grace has moved further into the mountains, and it's been seven years since Butters left. Bradley hasn't forgotten about him, in fact, he's all Bradley can think about, it keeps him sane, keeps him alive. After all this time Bradley finally sends a letter to Butters, but what next?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The gay nerd who pretty much inspired me to write this drabble](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=The+gay+nerd+who+pretty+much+inspired+me+to+write+this+drabble).



> Honestly I need more Bratters in my life, so here we go. I'm not that great a writer and it's really late, but heck someone needs to say what would happen if things had gone a little differently!
> 
> Feedback and comments are always welcome~ Thank you~!

A figure sits hunched on the steps of his cabins front steps. A lantern sat beside him is the only source of the light in the all-consuming blackness of the night. The light of the flame bounces off of the white paint on the porch, though it is ultimately outmatched by the darkness. The boy chews on his nails as he stares down at the piece of paper balanced on his knees. He shakes slightly, any observer might think it was the cold night air, a friend might think he is just anxious and shaking with the nerves, but only he knows why he’s really shaking. He is writing a letter. Which in itself shouldn’t be nearly this stressful, but it’s not just any letter. This letter is special, in fact, it is almost definitely the most important letter Bradley will write in his entire life. He lifts his pen from beside him and begins scratching words onto the thin paper, his hands shaking. His writing is less than acceptable by ‘Camp New Grace’s teachers standards, he’d probably get hit over the knuckles for it, but he knows they’ll never see this letter.

You see, Bradley has been planning to write this letter for quite some time now, six years and four months to be exact. He’s written it before, but it’s never felt right, but tonight is different, he knows it. Of course every other night was “different” and “felt right” at the time.

He stops writing, his hands shaking almost uncontrollably, he looks down, fixing his eyes between his fingers, his “friend”’s fingers had fit perfectly in those spaces. He closes his eye’s, and it feels like the first time he has in forever, tiredness engulfing him. He hasn’t slept in two days, his cabin feeling too empty, another camper gone. They weren’t the first and they wont be the last.

He remembers when Leopold – Butters - was at the camp. The first night he’d been confused and afraid, and against Bradley’s better judgement he’d let the other slip into his bed, Butters wrapping his arms around Bradley’s waist. It had sent chills down Bradley’s spine, he knew he’d have hell to pay if they were found, but the quiet whispers from Butter’s, telling him it’d be okay, meant Bradley had the soundest sleep he’d ever had, and probably will ever have. He wraps his own arms around his waist, wishing, praying, that he might feel the same as he did that night.

A tear rolls down his cheek, stinging as it reaches his lips and seeps into the cut’s on the soft pink flesh. A rattled breath escapes him as he loosens his grip on his waist and looks up at the stars. The darkness of the night broken in only a few places by the bright lights. There’s only one reason for him to be thankful at the camp, they moved locations once Butter’s left, now that they’re in the mountains, as far away from civilisation as possible, Bradley can see the sky in all its beauty. It’s almost like he can taste the inky blackness above him, and in the mornings it feels like a part of it has stained his heart, the cold comfort of loneliness guiding him through each painstaking day.

He knows what Butter’s would say to him right now, he would say how it all gets better, and that he isn’t broken, how one day he would live in a big house, with a happy family, and he would never feel alone again. He didn’t believe Butter’s when he’d said it six years ago and he wouldn’t believe it now, but the way Butter’s said it, the hope that seemed to drip off his words, it could always stir something in Bradley.

Bradley looks down at his letter, he’s only written a paragraph. More tears leave his eyes, tickling his cheeks as they bow to gravity and drop onto the paper. He begins scribbling on the page again, his chest aching as the tears flows from his eyes like the ink flows from the pen. He wishes he could let the sobs in his chest flow just as free, but that would risk waking someone, and he has very little time as is. The sky is already beginning to turn into a frigid grey, the stars paling, almost fading. Soon it’ll be light blue, the campers will be waking, and the wretched day will begin.

Bradley hunches and continues writing, his shape casting an almost crescent moon shaped shadow upon the white porch. He signs the letter with a heart, smiling slightly. Though his smile is quick to fade as a tear lands on the ink, maiming the shape into a vaguely heart shaped blotch on the paper. A dry laugh breaks free from his throat. Oh cruel fate he thinks to himself, if this isn’t a sign from the all powerful man who has condemned him then he doesn’t know what is.

He hears footsteps approaching him and folds the letter hastily, pressing it under his thigh as the person approaches. They raise their hands as they see the way Bradley shakes. Bradley watches cautiously as they step into the light, after a moment he is sure he knows the boy, so he holds up a finger, taking the letter out and scribbling a few extra words down the bottom, kissing the paper before he folds it and nods to the other boy.

The other approaches slowly, taking the letter from Bradley slowly, keeping a hand on the others shoulder. Few words are exchanged, comforting words from the other camper, and thanks from Bradley. Then, just as suddenly as he arrived, the boy leaves, and Bradley is engulfed by that comforting loneliness again. He lies back on the porch, closing his eyes. Tiredness seeps into his bones, and they creak in protest as he stands, picking up his pen and lantern, and walking back into his perpetually cold cabin.

He climbs under his sheets, the light from the brightening sky crawling in through the window. He blows out his lantern and closes his eyes in the soft darkness of what is effectively his jail cell.

He thinks of what will happen with his letter as he lets sleep creep into the space behind his eyes, hoping tonight will be the night he doesn’t wake up.  
The letter will be given from the camper that came to his porch to an anonymous person who comes by the camp on unscheduled visits, which are sometimes months apart. Then they will take all the letters and stamp money that the camper has hidden for all the other campers, and the anonymous person, who most call “Ze Mole”, will send the letters away. Once in a blue moon Ze Mole will bring a letter to the camp. Though in all of the eight years Bradley has been at the camp it has happened only six times. As sleep begins to take him, he lets go of the hope that Butter’s will write back, there’s almost no hope left in Bradley. His last hope is hanging by a thread as thin as that spun by a firefly, and has been since he can remember. He hopes that one day, somehow he will be fixed.

Though you and I both know that will never happen, and deep down Bradley does too, but if he loses that last, weak lifeline, who knows what will happen. I think it’s best we let him hold on to it, don’t you?


	2. A Lot Of Eggs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Several years later we join Bradley at his menial job, another average day in his average life. Just... average.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yOOO theres more! B)

Sadly Butter's did not reply to Bradley's letter, whether it be because he didn't want to, or simply didn't get it Bradley may never know. But fret not, for the story does not end there, in fact, it has only just begun.

We join a nineteen year old Bradley several years later, his hair is just as wild as when he was ten, though he's started styling it in these past years, so its a controlled mess. He looks in the mirror, dragging a hand down one side of his face, his nails bitten short. The dark circles under his eyes seem almost perpetual at this point, and he’s given up hope on getting rid of them. He never grew to be particularly lanky, he was actually short by most standards, but just by looking anyone could tell his thin legs easily made up at least sixty percent of his height. He often thought he was oddly proportioned, his wrists too thin for his spindly hands, his stomach too pudgy for his thin frame, and his neck too long for, well, all of him. The only up side of being vaguely unattractive was that no one was willing to hit on him, which allowed him to avoid the temptation of his “ailment”.

A little over a year ago he left Camp New Grace, having been told he was “cured”. He had known he wasn’t, but was happy to just get away from the camp. His life in normal society is one that most would consider somewhat less than satisfactory, but for him, simply having his own room, with no acountabilibuddy is more than enough.

He drags his eye’s away from the tired form staring back at him in the dirty mirror and walks to his bedroom, pulling his boots on and throwing the leftovers of his breakfast, toast, into his minuscule backyard for the birds that had begun gathering back there for food. He likes the system he has with the pigeons, at eight every morning they land in his yard and wait for his food, which is almost always toast, sometimes, when he can afford it, he buys them proper bird seed, as a treat.

He’s a kind hearted boy, and a good Christian. He prays nightly, is compassionate, and kind to every living creature, but it’s not enough. He was told being a good Christian would make him happy, would make his life worth living, living for his almighty ruler, but he it doesn’t seem to have worked so far. He feels as though the night sky has taken over his heart, a darkness not even broken by the stars, beating healthily, which is odd considering his diet contains mostly hot chocolate and toast.

As he leaves the house he checks his uniform and grabs his keys, which join his old phone in his back pocket. His boots click as he walks down the street, the drab colours surrounding him actually brightening his mood. His life in Camp New Grace was mostly whites and bright blues, the greys and dirty browns serve to remind him of his freedom, of the fact that no one will bust him for the underwear catalogue he still keeps under his mattress, no one will give him pop quizzes on scripture. Its an odd freedom, he knows he’s free, and feels it, but there’s a part of him that’s trapped, Bradley makes an effort not to think about it, and rightly so, that’s a rabbit hole not many would willingly go down.

Once he reaches his work he stands outside, staring up at the sign. It is shiny chrome pear with a perfect bite taken out of the right side, underneath it in big bold letters are the words “ROBOT FRESH”. Bradley never understood what the hell that meant, how could a piece of food be a robot? He ponders the question once again before shrugging and walking through the automatic doors and to the staff room, signing in and putting on his apron. He does his every day inventory check, before checking each isle individually. There’s only one other staff member on the roster for the morning, and fortunately they’re one of the biggest space cases he knows. They never seem to be thinking anything, they just look off into space until someone asks them a question. It suits Bradley just fine. He nods to them as he walks to the front of the store to flip the “CLOSED’”sign to “OPEN”, then slips into one of the registers to begin another menial day.

The store is quiet, as usual, you don’t expect someone like Bradley to work in fast paced customer service do you?

A few customers come in around nine, purchasing milk, eggs, and an almost suspicious amount of frozen yoghurt. Bradley smiles, makes small talk, and acts interested in the lives of the customers, asking what they plan to do with their day, wishing them a good one, the usual.

His day passes uneventfully, the lunch rush means two registers are opened, people coming in to buy their fruit cups, yoghurt’s, fro-yo’s, and packaged salads to take back to their cubicles in their offices. Though at six pm, as his co-worker, a chatty one, closes up shop, his conventional day becomes a rather extraordinary one.

“That’s a lot of eggs, man.” He says, not looking up at the teen in front of him as he carefully places the fragile boxes into several plastic bags,

“Oh boy it sure is.” His customer says, he sounds kind of nervous, Bradley can guess what he plans to do with them, and normally he wouldn’t go into it, but he can’t help himself,

“Your friends send you in here to get them so you can all go egg some guys house, huh?” He says as he pushes in a few things on the register.

“Well, uh, yeah...” The customer looks away, rubbing at the back of his neck. Bradley notes that he’s a few centimetres shorter than him, his blond hair adorably messy,

“That’ll be 30 dollars, and don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone, just don’t do it again.” he says against his better judgement, he knows he should probably tell the boy off, but he can’t bring himself to, their voice is just so nervous and timid, just like his used to be.

“Oh, yeah, sorry.” The boy says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a fifty dollar note. As he hands it to Bradley their eye’s lock, Bradley gasps quietly, not able to pull his eye’s from Butter’s. The boys bright blue eyes flick down to Bradley’s name tag before up again. They stand there for another half second before Butters grabs his bags and runs off, forgetting about his change. Bradley watches him go. Through the clear shop doors he can see one of Butters friends hold out a hand, presumably for the change, Butters shakes his head and shrugs, and after some glares and scolding they walk away, Butters trailing behind. Bradley’s heart sinks when he doesn’t look back.

His co-worker finishes closing up signing both themselves and Bradley out, they make Bradley aware of this as they leave, Bradley thanks them.

Once he’s home he sinks into his cheap mattress, his thoughts racing. Why would Butters run? Unless he felt guilty, and the only reason he would have to feel guilty would be if he got Bradley’s letter but didn’t want to write back. Knowing Butter’s he would feel awful not writing back, that’s enough of a reason to run.

Bradley doesn’t sleep that night, instead he uses up his months worth of internet streaming "Animals Close-Up With a Wide-Angle Lens Wearing Hats".


	3. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They both finally got of their asses and do something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol sorry this took me so long to write I have no excuse except for having no inspiration, but tada its finally here!

He wakes up late the next morning, running a hand down his face as his bed creaks under his breaths, he really needs a new bed. He forces himself out of bed, not intending to be later than he already is, and busies himself getting dressed, he foregoes breakfast, instead hastily chopping an apple and throwing it into the backyard for the birds. At this point they’re dependent on him, he figures if he doesn’t feed himself he has to at least feed them.

By the time he makes it to work his co-worker has already opened up entirely, he rushes inside, putting his satchel, which contains a book and some food for his lunch break, in the staff room before going out front to apologize for his tardiness. The store is empty and his colleague, Sarah, takes that as an opportunity to scold him loudly for his tardiness, and lack of enthusiasm. He promises to do better, and that seems to be enough for her as she slips back into her normal friendly attitude.

“So, how’re the birds?” She asks, Bradley told her about them a while ago, in fact, it’s the only thing anyone at the store knows about his home life, that he feeds the birds in his backyard.

“They’re good, I didn’t have time for breakfast this morning, as you might have guessed, and had to give them my last apple.” He says, he never was much of a conversationalist, but animals always seem to be his go-to topic,

“I’m sure they appreciated it!” Sarah chirps, optimistic as always, “Tell you what, you let me take your lunch break and you can get a couple free apples?” She’s always been a bargainer, Bradley shakes his head,

“However, the king said to Araunah, ‘No, but I will surely buy it from you for a price, for I will not offer burnt offerings to the LORD my God which cost me nothing’ 2 Samuel 24:24” Bradley says smiling slightly, he’s become rather accustomed to quoting the Bible, even if it seems out of place in the conversation. Sarah raises an eyebrow and Bradley adds, “So no thank you, I’d rather just have lunch and buy apples.” Sarah laughs good-heartedly at that, patting him on the shoulder,

“You’re really odd, y’know?” She asks rhetorically, Bradley smiles and nods. He walks to his own register, pulling out his phone to play cheap games on as he waits for customers. He likes Sarah enough, and she seems to like him, and sometimes he’s thankful to have her to talk to, it brings some semblance of normality to his life, something he could do with more of.

After a few customers his lunch break approaches and he closes his register. People mill around the store, probably on their lunch break too, they only ever have more than twenty customers at lunch.

“I’m on break.” He says as he passes Sarah, she sighs and nods, and he knows its because her break isn’t for another few hours.

He has his lunch quietly in the break room and returns after half an hour, nodding at Sarah as he walks back to his register. She smiles and goes to take her lunch break, pausing before she’s out of his line of sight,

“Some guy came by with an envelope for you, its on your little shelf thing.” She says, smiling kindly,

“What’d he look like?”Bradley asks, he’s always been scared of someone from Camp New Grace coming to check on him and realising that he isn’t fixed, not in the least.

“Kinda skinny, short, blonde?” She offers a shrug before walking away. Bradley feels anxiety stirring in his gut, he looks around to see if any customer’s would be bothered if he opened the letter. A few are browsing the aisles, but they seem to be taking their time and probably wont be at the register for a while.

He pulls the letter out from the shelf under the counter, opening the envelope slowly. His hands are shaking slightly, but he steels himself and continues to open it completely, pulling out the letter. It feels delicate and frail in his hands, the paper old and worn, the creases in it seem to have been there for forever, and as Bradley begins to read he realises what it is. Butter’s wrote him a reply, at the bottom is the boys address, written next to it is “in case you ever think you’ll visit.” with a heart below it. He swallows slowly, looking around, he can’t leave now, can he? It’s the afternoon and he’s still on the clock. It’d be terribly irresponsible of him, but what kind of story would this be if he abided by the rules and ignored his impulses.

He places the letter carefully back into its envelope, closing his register and running to the break room to grab his bag.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Sarah asks, sitting up straight as he freezes in front of her, his bag tossed over his shoulder,

“This letter’s really important, I-I have to go, okay? You can have all my breaks for a month, I promise.” He says, his leg shaking as he stops himself running out the door,

“Two months.” Sarah says,

“Deal.” Bradley says as he takes off again, running down the street. His hair whipping him in the face infrequently. He looks at the street names as he runs, doing his best to find where Butter’s lives, or at least where he lived when he sent the letter.

He reaches the house in about fifteen minutes, his lungs raw from the running, he really needs to exercise more. He straightens his satchel across his chest and runs a hand through his untamed hair, there’s no point in even trying to fix it, he just hopes it looks endearing, it doesn’t, not really. His footsteps up Butters driveway are light, it barely feels real, Bradley isn’t 100% sure it is. It feels like an eternity before he can even reach the doorbell, and when he does he just stands there, staring. He doesn’t realise as time slowly passes by, he’s too occupied with staring and trying not to think. He doesn’t try particularly hard. His mind wanders to everything that could happen, first he’d ask for an explanation, or maybe he’d hug Butters, but that could scare him, maybe he should just wave and say hi, or shake hands, or- before he can finish his train of thought the door opens and Butters steps out, shouting a goodbye behind him to his Mum. He turns his head back just in time to see Bradley’s shocked face as he crashes into him, both of them stumbling around awkwardly.

“Oh crap, uh, sorry Butters” Bradley blurts out, smoothing down the shoulders of Butters’ jacket. Butters smiles, and Bradley smiles too, its infectious. Bradley wonders if the reason they call Leopold Butters is because his smile is as pleasant as butter melting into warm toast in the morning.

“Its okay.” Butters says, stepping forward, seemingly unsure of where to go. Bradley makes a split second decision, and it was probably the right decision, he steps forward too, wrapping his thin arms tightly around the other. He lifts Butters slightly off of the ground, the other laughing lightly into his neck. After a too-short moment of embrace they both let go and step away.

“I’m sorry I never sent the letter back.” Butters says, looking down and rubbing his knuckles together, “I was just so confused and I didn’t know what I was doing or what the world had to offer.” He looks up, awaiting Bradley’s reaction,

“Its okay.” Bradley smiles, “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonour others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Corinthians 13:4-5”


End file.
